How Becoming a Psychologist is Teaching Me to Be Happy in a World I Don’t Understand

One late Tuesday night as I desperately tried to fall asleep, my bedroom walls vibrated with the sound of music. My young, carefree neighbor was throwing a party. She had recently moved in and was still in that phase where everything is new and having friends over every other night is almost mandatory. I had a quiet but angry debate with myself. Should I call and complain, or should I put a pillow over my head and pretend I can’t hear anything like I’d done countless times before? Feeling like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino, I got up and walked to the intercom, determined to call and ask her to turn down the volume. I must have taken the phone off the hook five times before I finally dialed her apartment number to make my request. She apologized and, seconds later, the music was gone. I felt good about myself for overcoming what used to be an insurmountable challenge: standing up for myself. What was that if not Life teaching me to be more assertive? I used to subscribe to the idea that Life is this wise professor who offers personalized lessons for my betterment. It allowed me to reframe my problems as opportunities, and clearly see progress in areas I had been struggling with. What were all my failed relationships but opportunities to learn about mine and other people’s boundaries? Including the relationship that caused me anxiety attacks and almost led me into depression. I guess I needed that experience, I used to tell myself. I must have needed it, otherwise, what was it all for? <a href="https://medium.com/acid-sugar/how-becoming-a-psychologist-is-teaching-me-to-be-happy-in-a-world-i-dont-understand-259c24ad2be5">Website</a>